0 - 0 - 1 - 21:42 - Ileana
The human was relaxed for once when Ileana had arrived. It had been a relief to Ileana that she did not have to spend any time soothing her ward’s fragile state. Once the human accepted the fact that her current lifestyle was forced upon her - static and timeless - then she would likely stretch her inevitable descent into insanity out farther into the future. The human woman had to be like a statue in her mind - just as she was forced to be in her body.

Indeed… the human’s body…

Ileana found herself examining the woman’s body more and more intently every time she arrived as she crawled into the space of the grave distributing the sedgling weeds to refurbish the air. She admired the dainty toes of the human - her graceful feet. Her ankles were tightly gripped by the metal cuffs, but it was still easy to see how narrow they were. Her calves were perfectly swollen with a bit of muscle as though she had to regularly climb up from the banks of a swiftly moving river. Ileana wanted to bite them, just to feel their suppleness beneath her teeth. Her thighs were well formed as well and Ileana used the excuse of tight quarters to slide her hand across them. The human had not complained.

Her sex. Of course, she pressed her lips to her sex with every visit in order to relieve her of her wastes. It was a very utilitarian task, but still, Ileana could see and feel heat blossom across the woman’s sex as soon as Ileana began to move into position… even before contact.

“Can I ask you a question?” the human asked after finishing nursing from Ileana’s breast.

“I suspect that you will ask your question with or without my permission,” Ileana said. “I will not guarantee an answer.” She used her thumb to wipe a bit of saliva from the corner of the human’s mouth. As she did she felt the tip of the woman’s tongue press lightly to the pad of her thumb and for a moment they both froze.

Ileana pulled her hand away and the human woman let out a chuckle. “You taste like… like… fresh water…,” the woman said, “Cold, fresh water on a hot day in the desert.”

“Hm,” Ileana grunted, her mouth bending up in a smirk. “That is not a question.”

“Yeah,” the woman said looking vaguely towards Ileana’s face with her sightless eyes. “I was wondering where you go when you aren’t here?”

Ileana froze for a second, her smile quickly dissipating, then she pushed herself a bit farther away from the human woman. “I will not answer that question.”

“Oh,” the human said. “I just wondered if you go to some room when you pass through the portal, or maybe another dimension, maybe not even here on Earth.”

“I have just said that I would not answer that question,” Ileana said, gritting her teeth.

“Do you take care of others like me? Am I part of a huge cemetery of abandoned, living corpses? Do you go home to a lover? Do you have kids? Read the news? Go out and catch a sh..”

Ileana slapped her palm across the human’s mouth, holding it closed. “You, stupid human, shut up!”

The human’s eyes were big with fear, but, too, there was a spark of determination. She started murmuring more indecipherable questions into Ileana’s palm. While there were no words, Ileana could hear that the woman’s tone was measured and calm. Ileana decided that the stupid human needed to be more afraid just to know that she should keep her questions to herself. She squeezed her hand more tightly against the woman’s mouth, her fingernails beginning to press into her cheeks. Tears began to leak from from the woman’s eyes, but still she kept mumbling her questions into Ileana’s palm.

“Shut the fuck up!!”

And in a flash Ileana left the grave.

0 - 0 - 1 - 23:44 - Aife

The two short lythe women made there way down the street. Aife, dressed in a gray, hooded jacket and gray stretch pants with a small backpack strapped tightly to her back was tracking the addresses posted on the buildings as they walked. Two steps behind was the robed castle slave, Zeigh, holding her own leash, her bare feet briefly peeking from beneath her robes with every step she took.

“...and when I got a little older I changed it to Ze, you know, spelled Z, E, because I thought that since I’m older my name should be a little longer, and I’ve just kept making it longer and longer with every passing five years or so… Z, E, E. Now it’s Z, E, I, G, H. I don’t think that it really matters how I spell it from a legal standpoint since I’m not really registered as human anyways, being born as a slave and all…”

“Uh huh,” Aife said. “This is the place… Madam Murus, The Wall Channeler…” Aife knocked on the door and waited patiently.

“...I’m not sure where to go with the name next, though, Z, E, I, G, H, E, I, G, H seems like the logical next step, but maybe it’s becoming a bit overbearing then…”

The door opened and a squat woman answered.

“We’re here to see Madam Murus. I’m Aife and this is Zeigh. She is expecting us.”

“Oh, hi! I’m Madam Murus,” the woman smiled in a breathy high pitched voice standing aside to welcome them inside. “Let’s see. You are looking for someone?”

“We’re looking for Madam Murus,” Zeigh blurted out.

“No! I mean, yes!” Aife said turning to Zeigh. “I think that she is asking what our purpose is, Zeigh. Yes! We are looking for someone, a slave named Karma.” Aife walked into the foyer with Zeigh close behind fidgeting noisily with the handle of her leash.

“OK. We’ll get to the details of your missing person when Fanny joins us. But first let me tell you a little about the history of our facility.” Madam Murus pointed to a fading photo framed on the wall with bleached out colors. The photo depicted a corner of the very room in which they were standing. The was a woman in the photo, her skin, gray, perhaps even bluish, wearing a long black dress with a scoop neck and lacey bell sleeves. Upon closer inspection Aife realized that the woman’s image was translucent. She could see a small end table and vase behind the woman - through the woman.

“When this building was built many years ago, it is believed that a woman was buried alive in the walls as a sacrifice and that her spirit watches over the building to this day. Well, I am a spirit talker and I had the pleasure of moving my business here two years ago and it turns out that I and the spirit, who prefers to be called Fanny, have developed quite the rapport.” The woman placed her hand over her mouth and squeaked out a shrill giggle. “So, we’ll just go into my sacred balance room and sit on some cushions, hold hands and see if Fanny knows any information about your missing person.”

Madam Murus led Aife down a dimly lit hall. The walls were dusty and there were long cracks running through the plaster. Zeigh dropped her leash and had grabbed Aife’s arm with both hands. “I’m scared,” she whispered.

Aife bent over and picked up the end of Zeigh’s leash. “Shh! It’s OK. Just remember that we are here for Karma.”

She began to pull Zeigh along down the hall. Suddenly, a series of heavy thuds beat out a rhythm on the other side of the wall along the length of the hall. Aife jumped at the sound and bent her body over Zeigh to protect her from whatever would happen next. But the thumping sounds were quickly over, replaced by the sound of dirt raining down from the cracks where it had been dislodged.  Mistress Murus had turned around at the far end of the hall. “So sorry. My! Fanny is more active than usual today.”

Aife whispered to Zeigh, “Don’t worry. That was probably one of the Madam’s employees. A medium will always have a more successful session with individuals who believe that she is actually talking with a spirit.”

Zeigh’s eyes were big with fear. Aife doubted that she was hearing a single word she had said. “I don’t like ghosts in walls.”

Aife coaxed Zeigh on down the hall, until they came to a small room with candles burning in each corner and large brown pillows set in the middle of the room. Strange symbols were drawn in red on each wall and the ceiling. Madam Murus waved towards the cushions as she scanned the top corners of the room. “We’ll take a seat here and close the circle.”

Aife glanced up towards the corners as well looking for projectors or any other tech equipment, but the walls looked fairly barren. She sat on one of the pillows, and though they had been set in a fairly equidistant manner, Zeigh grabbed one and slid it so close to Aife that she was almost in her lap.

“Zeigh, I’m not really comfortable with you being so close…” Aife whispered. Zeigh started to move back from Aife, but stopped and then perhaps leaned even closer.

Madam Murus sat down on the remaining cushion and reached out her hands. “Sometimes it’s hard to rouse Fanny to participate,” she smiled, “but she seems quite in phase today, doesn’t she?”

Aife tentatively joined hands with the Madam while Zeigh continued to cower, smashing herself as closely to Aife as she could.

“Customarily,” Murus explained, “we can pull her more into our world by joining our hands and combining our inner light as a beacon.” She continued to hold her hand out toward Zeigh, but Zeigh simply looked up into Aife’s eyes pleading, refusing to relinquish her grip on Aife’s arm. Aife shook her head and the Madam sighed. “Well, I reckon that we already have Fanny’s attention.”

“So,” the Madam continued, “who did you say is this person that you are looking for?”

“We are looking for a slave woman named Karma. She is one of the Princess’s slaves,” Aife explained. “She disappeared the day before the Princess set off for Joppa.”

“And is this slave, Karma, do you think she is alive?”

Zeigh blurted out, “Yes!”

“We don’t know for sure,” Aife responded patting Zeigh softly on the shoulder.

“Ok,” the Madam said. “And what relation is she to the two of you?”

“I did not know her,” Aife said. “But Zeigh was her cell mate in the castle. They shared quarters.”

Madam placed a gentle hand on Zeigh’s leg causing her to jump and push even more into Aife. “Did you know her well?”

Zeigh looked at Aife for a moment, then looked back at the Madam. “For all my life…” Zeigh whispered.

“Ok, if you could perhaps visualize her appearance in your head, then that will give Fanny a chance to look about in the…”

The candles suddenly flickered as though a breeze was blowing through the room, though Aife felt no movement of air. Then a rasping, whispered voice filled the room, “Penelope!”

“Wh… what was that?!” Zeigh asked, burying her face into Aife’s arm.

The Madam had sat back for a moment, but then leaned towards Aife again. “Are one of you named Penelope?”

Aife shook her head, looking around trying to determine where the sound came from.

“Well… Fanny seems quite agitated today,” Murus straightened her back and then seemed to be addressing the air. “Ahem! We are looking for a woman, Fanny. A slave named Karma. She may or may not be alive, Fanny. Can you find Karma?”

The candles flickered out leaving the room in a thick darkness. Aife felt the Madam withdraw her hand. There was a shuffling sound and then a click and a flashlight turned on. Madam held the light up. “Sorry. I’ve got some more matches here somewhere.”

Zeigh continued to burrow into Aife whimpering.

“Penelope!”

The Madam set the flashlight on the ground with the beam pointed towards the ceiling. She stood up looking nervously around the room. “Um… Are you sure you’re not named… Let me go get some more matches and candles. I’ll just be a...” She slipped out the door.

“Can we go now?” Zeigh asked. “I don’t like it… Whaaat is that?!”

Aife looked towards one of the walls and saw diffuse light pouring down from the ceiling like liquid, pooling on the floor and slowly puddling towards where they sat. The puddle bubbled slightly, then columns of light rose from the center forming into flexible tentacles which swayed to and fro in the air for a moment before suddenly shooting out and apparently wrapping around Zeigh’s left ankle. Zeigh jumped, suddenly flailing frantically, crazy with fear, kicking and screaming.

“She’s got me!” Zeigh screamed.

The flashlight knocked over and began to flicker on and off.

Zeigh’s left leg went straight suddenly pointed towards where the light was dripping down the wall as though the tentacles had a fair degree of physical manifestation. Zeigh’s body began to slide across the floor. Aife jumped up and kicked at the tentacles near Zeigh’s ankle, but passed straight through them. Still, Zeigh, who was now clawing at the floor, continued to slide towards the far wall.

Aife grabbed Zeigh under her arms and around her torso, locking her hands and began to pull away from the light.

“Penelope!”

Zeigh continued to scream. Her right leg flailing furiously trying to wrench her left free from the ghostly grasp. Aife kicked pillows out of the way in order to get the best traction and leaned into her task of pulling Zeigh away from the light. Aife leaned a little too far and slipped sending them both to the floor. Zeigh quickly resumed sliding towards the light - her slave robes asunder, riding up as she slid across the floor. First her left, then her right foot disappeared into the wall - passing through the plaster as though it were not there. Her knees followed suit before Aife was able to get off the floor. She jumped to the wall and tried to reach in where Zeigh’s legs disappeared, but when she did her hand smacked against the cool plaster. Somehow only Zeigh was allowed through the surface of the wall.

“What the fuck?” Aife cursed. Since she was not also passing through the wall, that gave her a point of leverage. She braced her feet against the wall and grabbed a firm hold of Zeigh’s torso.

The door to the room opened and Madam Murus stood frozen in fear with an open box, wooden matches sliding out onto the floor.

Zeigh was still screaming, but had latched around Aife’s shoulders. Thankfully, she was losing no more ground to whatever was trying to pull her into the wall.

Pale light began coalesced over Aife’s head as she struggled and from the forming shape darkness hollowed out the space of what seemed to be two eyes staring at Aife.

“Mine!” the ethereal voice screamed. But Aife only fought harder.

“No, She’s fucking mine!” Aife screamed.

Suddenly, whatever had a hold of Zeigh let go and the two women tumbled back across the pillows. Zeigh jumped up and headed for the door, but apparently some part of her slave robe was still embedded in the wall and when she reached the limit allowed by the robe, her feet flew up in the air and she fell to the ground again. That did not stop Zeigh though. She slipped out of the robe and ran from the room naked, down the hall and out into the street.

Aife emerged from the building carrying Zeigh’s slave robe which she had to tear along the lower hem to extract from the wall. Zeigh was on the opposite side of the street with her arms wrapped around a street lamp, screaming “Don’t make me go back, Mistress! Don’t make me go back!”. Madam Murus was standing by the door with her hand over her heart.

Aife ran across the street searching any passers-by for any sign of opportunistic individuals and pinned Zeigh’s mouth closed with her palm as she wrapped the remains of the slave robe around her. She looked back across at Madam Murus, who simply waved as though she were shooing them away. “Er… No charge for today!”

Aife kept looking around to see who was watching. A clutch of Metal Gypsies. A cluster of leering, loitering men. She cursed and grabbed Zeigh’s leash, jerking it, causing Zeigh to stumble a little along behind her as she moved quickly down the street.


0 - 0 - 2 - 02:15 - Maisie

Maisie had been installed in a heavy wooden upright chair. Her ankle cuffs were shackled to the front legs of the chair and her arms were chained behind to a point near the hard seat. She was unable to move much, but at the moment that was completely fine with her. She was exhausted. Sleeping in the bottom of a small swinging cage, did not allow her to rest too well. But, more likely, it was the two workout sessions that she had been forced to endure already this day that caused her exhaustion. Now, salt caked in the spots of her naked flesh where sweat might collect and drip.

She had actively determined that she would strive to exercise and eat whatever her captors provided simply in order to maintain her strength. She needed her wits to look for opportunities to help her lover, Piper. She no longer cared about her own fate. She would martyr herself for Piper. She would do anything.

It turns out, Divinica’s goals aligned with her own. Once pulled from her cage, she was given an extremely healthy breakfast. Next they made her work out for an hour quite vigorously. Her wrists and ankles were locked to handles of some strange exercise machine designed to simulate the activity of climbing a ladder. By the end of the hour her arms were totally shot. She was allowed a rest, then another protein packed meal, followed by another painful hour jogging naked and barefoot on a treadmill.

So, now, she was content to sit. Her shoulders had begun to slump forward as sleep crept upon her when the sound of the door opening caused her to snap her head back up. Dr Norost, the architect of Maisie’s penance, walked into the room with the two muscular Rolling Wars Dirt Room women.

“Ah, my lovely, Maisie,” Dr. Norost said placing a small case on the table next to Maisie’s chair. “You have been working out so hard today. I like to keep you as healthy as possible.”

Maisie glared at the doctor. “Piper is innocent. Let her go.”

The doctor opened the case and pulled out a set of hair clippers. She took her time uncoiling the electrical cord and bent over to plug them in.

“Ah, Piper. Just the subject that I wanted to discuss.” the doctor said. “You would probably not be surprised to know that I was listening to your interactions with your lovely girlfriend, Piper, last night.”

“She’s innocent,” Maisie growled again. “I forced myself upon her.”

The doctor made a show of removing the guard from the clippers, then pressing the button to hear the buzz of the motor engage several times. Maisie looked between the clippers and the doctor’s face several times gauging the level of threat. Apparently, Maisie was about to lose her hair. She wondered whether the doctor was doing this as a bluff. She wondered if there was anything that she would concede in order to keep her hair. Fuck! It would grow back.

“Piper. She has the most beautiful voice, doesn’t she?” the Doctor said. “I know her story really well. Let’s see… about fifteen years ago a particularly gifted, though perhaps misguided, school friend, in a fit of jealous rage, set a dark curse upon Piper. She tricked Piper into willingly accepting upon herself a spell that would perfect her singing voice. Unfortunately, for young, vain, Piper, she soon discovered that there was a cost to the spell that the young witch failed to mention. Piper would never be able to form any sort of words ever again.”

The doctor nodded to one of the Dirt Room women, who quickly stepped up to Maisie grabbing her hair in a meaty fist and pulling her head back. The doctor engaged motor of the clippers and pressed them forcefully against Maisie forehead. She slowly pushing them into the thick of her locks toward the crown of her head. The motor whined louder, vibrating harshly against the top of Maisie’s head. It chugged almost to a stop a couple of times as hair began to clog the blades but with a little wiggling the motor soon recovered and long blonde strands slipped down Maisie’s back as they fell to the floor. Maisie gritted her teeth and squinted her eyes. After pushing the blades all the way to the nape of Maisie’s neck, the doctor turned off the switch.

“That evil, young witch who designed the spell, err.. the curse... was sent to the Joppa dungeons. She was deemed too dangerous to allow to live amongst the commoners, for indeed, as designed, Piper became incapable of communicating. She couldn’t even write words anymore. That’s what her family and friends have said.”

The Dirt Room woman yanked on the hair still attached to the left side of Maisie’s head, exposing the right side to the doctor’s clippers. The motor kicked in again and the doctor pressed the cold blades against Maisie’s temple quickly grinding through another pass over the top of Maisie’s head before resting again.

“I have kind of wondered how a highly intelligent woman such as yourself, Maisie, would choose to have a relationship with someone who is little more than a pretty, human shaped, walking music box. You seem like someone who thrives on intellectual debates. I thought that perhaps you just had shallow tastes. Piper is very pretty. She has an amazing singing… err, humming voice. But how does she challenge your intellectual desires?”

The clippers engaged again and the doctor pushed the blades carefully around Maisie’s ear ensuring that the entire right side of her head was reduced to stubble.

“Well, last night as I was monitoring you in your sleeping cage, I heard you speak with Piper. I heard the words that you used. And she would respond, humming, seemingly precisely timed notes and pitch changes - very pretty sounds, but, at the same time, very complex. And, after her little song was complete, I listened to your words. You were conversing! I could only understand your side of the conversation, but there was no doubt about it. You were having a conversation with someone who had supposedly been cursed to never communicate ever again. Brilliant!”

The Dirt Room woman grabbed Maisie’s ear and harshly yanked her head to the other side to allow the doctor to shear through the hair on the left side of Maisie’s head. After she finished, she set the clippers down and pulled out a mirror, holding it to allow Maisie to examine the damage that the clippers had done. Without the use of any guard, her head was covered by no more than a thin layer of stubble. Maisie frowned as she saw herself in the mirror, but merely pressed her lips tightly together.

“You know, I am really curious how you two beat the system. What is the nature of this beautiful and unique language that the two of you have developed? What sorts of details can be expressed? Just imagine the richness of emotion that can be communicated by a single note from pretty Piper’s throat! I really do want to know.”

Maisie turned from the mirror to look at the doctor, lips still held tightly.

“Divinica, on the other hand, does not share my interest,” the doctor said, placing the mirror back in the case. She pulled out a complicated tool which looked like a set of tongs though accessorized with a curving canister of some sort centered vertically near the business end of the tongs. A Dirt Room woman stepped up quickly placing the heel of her hand on Maisie’s forehead, then reaching down to grasp her nose.

“Get the fu…!” Before Maisie could say more, the Dirt Room woman pressed the fingers of her other hand into the hollow’s of Maisie’s cheeks allowing her to force Maisie’s mouth open. The doctor shoved the tongs inside Maisie’s mouth grasping her tongue tightly in the rubber coated surface of the tongs and pulling her tongue sharply outward.

Maisie let out a mewling sound, her limbs flexing desperately against her restraints.

The left side of Maisie’s tongue was being harshly pinched by the design of the tongs - so much so, that Maisie was concerned that they intended to simply cut her tongue out completely. The doctor however, released a little tension and Maisie reflexively tried to shift her tongue to the right to get away from the most painful pinch. However, the doctor was acting with intention and soon, Maisie’s tongue was not only well gripped by the tongs, but also perfectly centered within their grasp.

The doctor yanked sharply on Maisie’s tongue then pulled a trigger. A long, thick curved needle shot from the canister piercing the tip of Maisie’s tongue. Maisie gagged and shrieked but quickly stopped trying to form the choice set of curse words she had decided to use when she realized that the needle was still well embedded in her tongue and every sound she made caused her tongue to pull painfully against the impalement. The Dirt Room woman released her nose, but Maisie chose not to move at all for fear that her tongue would be physically ripped from her mouth. The doctor twisted some fixture on the tongs and disassembled the tool enough to be able to extract the gripping tongs from her tongue. However, the vertically oriented needle still impaled her tongue and its length was such that Maisie could not open her mouth wide enough to pull her tongue back into her mouth. The cold steel, curved needle pressed against both her upper and lower lip.

Maisie’s eyes were streaming with tears and blood was beginning to drip down her chin. She began to let out anguished grunts. The doctor had turned back to her case and pulled out some sort of brown bag. The doctor pulled a thin chain from the brown bag. The final link was an open ring. The doctor raised it to Maisie’s mouth mounting the ring in the upper end of the needle impaling her tongue. She then began pulling the needle down, slowly slipping it from the tip of Maisie’s tongue. It burned as she pulled the needle, sliding it through the open wound.

Finally, the doctor pulled the needle all the way out and flicked it off to the side. But now it was the ring that had slipped through Maisie’s new piercing and the doctor squeezed the ring to close it, shaking with the effort, until there was a click.

“We’ll have to use wire cutters to remove that again,” the doctor said with a smirk on her face.

Maisie’s tongue still burned. She could feel the link of chain that the ring was attached to with the tip of her tongue. She could feel more links press against her lower lip and trail down her chin. When the doctor moved a little, Maisie could feel the weight of the chain pull painfully on her tongue, forcing more tears to fall unbidden.

“Swish this around your mouth, love,” the doctor said as she unceremoniously dumped a small cup of blue liquid in Maisie’s mouth. “It’s anti-bacterial. Improves healing.” Maisie cough and choked on the liquid. It burned like hell when it drained through the wound in her tongue. She finally jerked her head forward letting the medicine slosh from her mouth and splash down across her naked breasts. “Such a mess,” the doctor said.

After towelling off Maisie’s chin, the doctor held up the brown bag. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the structure of the bag. The bottom was shaped like a face and the top was lined with metal eyelets - a thick cord attached to pull the eyelets tight. It was a leather hood. Also, the chain that descended from her mouth disappeared through the opening and into the hood.

The doctor held the hood up higher to show Maisie a small grommet at the point which would align with the wearer’s mouth where the tongue chain passed through and less than an arm’s length later ended in a prominent sturdy ring.

Horror blossomed in Maisie’s soul when she realized that the chain locked through her tongue was also permanently linked to the hood. The diameter of the end ring was far too big to fit through the tiny grommet in the hood. As long as her new piercing was embedded in her tongue, the hood would be attached to her. And she did not think that they would simply let it dangle around her neck.

The Dirt Room woman had grabbed the back of Maisie’s head as the hood was lifted towards her face. Maisie was not typically claustrophobic, but she started to shake as the doctor began to open the hood. There were no holes for her eyes. In fact, there was padding to keep the eyes closed. Also there were cups on each side meant to isolate her ears and restrict her hearing.

“Nooo! Please!” she tried to say around her sore tongue but already the hood was being pressed to her face, quickly swallowing her head. The pads pressed against her eyelids, pushing them closed. Her nose slipped into a pocket build for it. Two grommets were cut into the hood in line with her nostrils in order to allow her a good supply of air. Maisie felt the chain being teased through the grommet aligned with her lips and her pleas for leniency were stifled when the chain pulled against her new piercing and forcing the tip of her tongue to anchor along the back side of her teeth.

With her freshly cropped hair, they would find no difficulty in securing the hood around Maisie’s head. Quickly the lacing was taken up and as the hood was sealed around the back of her head, the cup that held her chin slowly pulled up and in forcing Maisie’s mouth to close. The thin chain pressed uncomfortably between her teeth and passed between her lips which were beginning to be pressed together with enough pressure to render them motionless. From there the chain slid through the narrow grommet at her lips and hung down into her lap.

Her words, deteriorated by restriction, soon were reduced to muffled moans. Her ears were ensheathed in sound reducing cups. While she could still hear the sound of the doctor’s voice, it was certainly greatly muffled.

“I look forward to you future communications with your beautiful girlfriend, Maisie,” the doctor said. She will have to enunciate her… I don’t know… her musical phrasing? And she will need to sing much more loudly for you to hear. And you, of course, will have to resort to her musical language… so, all should be fine!”

The doctor put her palm on Maisie’s leather sealed head as the Dirt Room woman tightened a flap of leather over the secured laces of the hood, sealing it with a padlock. She began to drum her fingers. “You CAN speak Piper’s language, can’t you Maisie? Well… we’ll see.”

Maisie’s wrists and ankles were unlocked from the chair and she was led blindly through the dungeons below the cloister of the Holy Women of the Sacred Hand to the edge of the pit where her cage was waiting for her. They pushed her into the barred cylinder and she heard the door slam and lock. The cage was pushed over the edge and swung out into the darkness supported by a single heavy chain secured to the ceiling high above.

They hadn’t locked her wrists at all this time, so Maisie raised her hands to her hood trying to find a way to loosen its grip. She quickly found the padlock and realized the folly of escaping. Her hands returned to the chain descending from the grommet at her mouth. They followed the links down to the end ring which had been secured to a staple in the bottom of the cage. She would not be able to stand - chained to the floor by her tongue.